Drug in My Drink
by theheartofadetective
Summary: Molly had always helped Sherlock; any time he needed anything, any time he was in trouble (which happened often for the longest time), she was there. But now this was different, for once she needed him, and she had never tested this before; she didn't really know if Sherlock would come, but she hoped everyone was wrong.


Molly had always helped Sherlock; any time he needed anything, any time he was in trouble (which happened often for the longest time), she was there. But now this was different, for once she needed him, and she had never tested this before; she didn't really know if Sherlock would come, but she hoped everyone was wrong.

They had known each other since high school. She had been Sherlock's only real friend after he started getting involved with drugs. It was to stave the boredom; he was always bored, could never keep mentally stimulated long enough to stay away from it until about a year ago. But through all of it, she had been there for him.

She had tried to push him to get clean so many times, but he always reverted back. Then again, he had never really tried all that hard. She'd missed paper deadlines, almost sacrificed failing her classes and not getting into her master's programme because she rushed to help him through a high. This was always how it was, but things were better now.

Molly was interning at Saint Bartholomew's for over a year now (well, it was more like just shadowing and doing paperwork) in hopes that it would make her look good for her doctorate program. That was where she met Lestrade, who she had only spoken to a few times, mostly staying quiet as she observed. Though, Lestrade asked her opinion when he saw a curious look on her face like she was questioning something.

When she had picked up something the pathologist on duty hadn't, it had granted her more attention and she was proud of herself for it. This was how she got Sherlock and Lestrade to meet and it helped him to get clean and to stay clean. He was doing minimal work with Lestrade, but it was enough. Lestrade promised him that the longer he stayed clean, the more he would let Sherlock help out. Sherlock had been clean for just under a year.

But Sherlock did not feel right sitting on his bed, his legs crossed as he plucked at his violin. His phone lit up and he saw that it was not who he was expecting it to be. Lestrade was supposed to call him about a case, but instead Molly's name took ownership across the screen.

"Molly?"

"_Sherlock_?" she whined, and immediately he was alert. The first few seconds had sounded loud, obviously a lot of people around her, but it had then gone quiet. She was not notorious for partying, but she had gone to a few of them. The loud sound of her shutting the door behind her and the banter of others dissipating meant she went somewhere private to get away.

But out of the few seconds of the background noise giving him evidence, the thing he noticed most was the inflections of her voice. She sounded terrified as if she would burst into tears. Her voice slurred as she asked his name.

"What's happened?" he found himself saying, eager and impatient.

"I don't - I shouldn't be bothering you but... they – I think they put something in my drink."

Sherlock's teeth gritted at the words, his hand clenching his phone tight as he got up from his bed, quickly throwing on his coat. "Where are you?"

"I don't… I don't remember, I-…" she trailed off, sounding confused. "Someone's knocking on the door. I think it's the girls I came here with."

"Lock the door," he told her immediately. "I don't care who they are, lock it."

He heard the sound of the phone dropping as Molly scooted over towards the door to turn the lock. The sound of ruffling made a static noise but he did not move his ear from the receiver. When he knew she had picked it up again, he was out the door, and spoke before she had the chance. "Your purse, Molly. You always write addresses down and put them in your bag."

If Molly had not been so befuddled by whatever was in her system, she would wonder why he noticed her neurotic tendencies. Well, she would call them neurotic, others would call it safe. She didn't know that Sherlock noticed just as much about her as she did about him. If Sherlock took the time to think about it, he had never deleted what she said to him; it was the first person he'd never done that too.

By now she was crying as she pulled the paper out of her bag and named off the address. Sherlock was already in a cab shouting at the driver to go faster.

Sherlock felt his chest constrict at the sound of her crying. She rarely let herself do it in front of him, but obviously this was not within her control. He felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he impatiently awaited the driver to arrive at the destination. This was probably the first and only time he _hadn't _wished for something to inspire an adrenaline rush.

"Are you coming to get me?" she slurred quietly, sniffling as she let her body rest on the floor, letting her eyes close.

"Yes," he told her immediately. "I'm on my way," he said, finding himself trying to console her.

"But maybe," she said, sniffling again, "maybe I could rest here until it wears off-"

"_No,_" he growled, causing Molly's eyes to open wide at the sound of his voice. "You can rest after I've gotten you."

He heard another sob from her throat as she curled her legs up against her chest. "I just want to sleep," she said, trying to fight the fatigue.

Sherlock closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He'd never heard her so frightened before, and nothing had made him feel quite like this before. He was angry - that was normal - but scared for her; he hated the thought of anything happening to her. "Sit up," he told her, trying not to let his voice sound cold. The emotion within him was overbearing, and usually his way of coping was to shut emotions out, but he knew that would make her more upset if he was like that right now.

He heard the sound of moving again as she complied with his request. She leaned her back against the wall as she bent her knees to keep them close to her chest as a comfort. She was quiet for a long moment and Sherlock feared that she was falling asleep.

"Tell me about your day," was the first thing that came to mind.

"You never ask about my day."

Sherlock sighed softly. "It will help to keep you awake until I get there," he admitted to her.

She hesitated for a moment, sniffing again as she wiped at her eyes. "Well… I missed you."

* * *

Molly's phone had died just before he got there, so when he reached the address, Sherlock threw himself of the vehicle before it even stopped, demanding the cabbie wait there for him. He threw open the door of the house, not phasing anyone as it was loud anyway. He tried to keep a narrow sight ahead of him as he pushed past the bodies. He looked for a closed door, knowing Molly would probably be one of the only people behind one. He kept his focus solely on Molly because if he let it drift elsewhere, the red he was seeing would take over and he would try to deduce every man in here until he figured out who it was that did this to her and then proceed to break his hands.

When he found the door and knew it was the right one, he didn't bother to knock. He picked the lock and made his way in, closing the door behind him.

He approached Molly and crouched down onto his knees, both hands cupping her face. She looked up at him with heavy lidded eyes. For a moment, he saw the tear stains down her face and the red puffiness of her eyes, and it made his teeth grind. But he remembered that the most important thing was that Molly was safe, that nothing had happened to her, minus some emotional trauma, and that he was here to take her home now. Well, to his dorm; he didn't want to be away from her tonight.

He pressed a light kiss to her temple in relief. He did not even know where it came from, but he watched as she seemed to fully relax upon realising that he was there. She mumbled something inaudible to him as he picked her up in his arms and she sank into his chest.

It was only seconds before she fell asleep against him, and remained asleep even throughout all of the noise. He kept her head tucked under his chin, pushing his way past people as he held her close. His glares were like daggers at anyone looking in their direction, and he deduced before leaving which guy it was; he would have Lestrade deal with that as he was on his way, Sherlock already texting him to let him know what was going on.

* * *

She slept against him through the cab ride as he still held her close, ignoring the sceptical glances in the mirror from the cabbie. Sherlock looked down at her, running his fingers through her hair as he took the time to think. Not that he ever stopped, but it was calm now; the adrenaline had subsided and he felt right with her against him. No one in there deserved to even be around Molly, and Molly had not deserved this happening to her.

Not that he would readily admit it to himself, but he did care for her, and knew that she loved him. He had no idea where he could start even if he did realise and tell her. He wanted to pass this off as an irrational response to her in danger, but he knew that was inaccurate. It was more of a wake-up call; an epiphany, though he despised the word.

She barely stirred when he awkwardly reached around her to pay the cabby, and also when he brought her into his dorm. But when he set her down on the bed gently and he went to pull away, he felt hands lightly gripping the lapels of his jacket. He looked down at her and she opened her eyes, moisture glistening across them.

"Sherlock…" she said, her eyes searching his face. She was too tired to form the words to ask him to stay with her, but it was enough for him to realise that she had no idea where she was. She thought he was going to drop her off at home and leave.

He lay down beside her and pushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "We're in my dorm," he assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep."

Although she fell asleep quickly, Sherlock fought off sleep for a while. He wanted to clear away the dried tear streaks down her cheeks, but she looked more peaceful than he thought she would after her traumatic night.

Sherlock had really never been this gentle with her before, or anyone really. But he'd also never seen Molly in such a vulnerable position before. She didn't frequent parties; she mostly focused on her schoolwork. He wanted to hiss at the girls who dragged her to that party and the guys who hosted it.

* * *

When Molly woke up, she could feel the pounding headache before her eyes even opened. Had she had _that_ much to drink last night?

No; certainly not. She laid still as she tried to go over what had happened. She remembered calling Sherlock, but she did not remember much of the phone conversation. She also recalled him finally getting there and picking her up in his arms just as she fell asleep.

"You were not hurt," she heard a soft voice say from close next to her. She opened her eyes to see Sherlock opposite her.

"You came for me," she smiled, but when he thought her surprised by this she saw a look of hurt flicker across his face for only a second before returning to its normal, neutral expression.

"It – It's not that I thought you wouldn't," she assured him and then let out a sigh. "When I was helping you-"

"Saving me," he corrected her, knowing she was referring to his time of drug use. She had saved him more than once, but she always tried to downplay it so he wouldn't feel bad about it. Sherlock, on the other hand, knew that saying it one way or another didn't actually change what it was.

She gave a light smile as she continued: "everyone criticised me for it. They told me if I ever needed help, that you wouldn't come."

When she met his eyes again, she realised how close she was to him and could not help letting her eyes flicker to his lips. "I guess I had good reason to doubt everyone else. Thank you, Sherlock."

As much as Sherlock wanted to say something to her, he still couldn't find any words. Instead he found himself pulling her against him and tucking her head under his chin.

Molly felt odd at the fact that she had never felt so comfortable around him. Half the time she was a nervous mess, especially if he was incredibly close to her. But she sighed as he held her against him.

Sherlock felt that now was not the time or place to tell her his feelings. He should wait, until she was not recently in a mess that practically traumatized her. Instead, he just held her as they both fell back to sleep together, Molly still unaware of her full worth to him. That would soon change.


End file.
